


Roots of Rebellion

by tinycaesar



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Courfeyrac and Finnick are best friends, Gen, Les Amis are dumb Capitolites who get educated, Les Amis de l'ABC Shenanigans, Multi, Musichetta and Cinna are twins, Rebellion, what could possibly go wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinycaesar/pseuds/tinycaesar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The son of a mysteriously deceased politician. An up-and-coming male model. A liberal arts student who sometimes lends his voice to the college radio station. A regular on the Capitol party scene. These and more band together for a single cause: to bring down the government.</p><p>But the Capitol is paradise, right? Why are its young people so angry?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roots of Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

> The Hunger Games AU I've always wanted to write. Let's face it, Les Amis de l'ABC save for Feuilly and possibly Bossuet are complete rich kids. In Panem, they would not be in the Games. Instead, they're part of the other face of the rebellion, playing the political game spearheaded by Plutarch Heavensbee.

"Unfair! You will ruin my runway debut."

The source of the complaint was opposite to Finnick Odair in every way, excepting that they were both incredibly handsome. Where Finnick was broad, muscular, and tan, the other young man was slim, lithe, and pale. The former had piercing green eyes and chiseled cheekbones; the latter had velvety dark eyes and gently curved lips.

The differences went more than skin deep, of course. Finnick had struggled, bled, and killed to get where he was today, whereas his colleague had gone the more traditional route of strutting on the catwalk and posing for pictures. Not that he was bitter or anything.

His companion continued, oblivious to his poor mood. "They told me I'd open for this show, and I thought, 'what luck!' But you're sure to outshine me; it's not fair; you're a year younger than me and already a supermodel."

It wasn't that Finnick hated this Courfeyrac guy or anything. It was just that Courfeyrac was the quintessential Capitolite, full of insincere pleasantries and exaggerated affectations. Finnick refused to be like him, although his continued survival depended on at least faking it.

A Capitolite would have reassured Courfeyrac that the crowd would love him, and surely they were getting bored of all Finnick, all the time, anyway. Since Finnick knew that that was what the other boy wanted to hear, he replied with deliberate haughtiness.

"If they won't notice you just because I'm there, then you're not worth being noticed."

"You're right, and that's why I'm so nervous."

Finnick paused at the sudden directness. He gave Courfeyrac a second look, and only then did he notice the shaking hands and shadowed eyes. He sighed.

"Take a look at yourself. You're fine. In fact, you're a better model than I am. Your coloring matches everything, but my outfits have to be just so, or I look garish. I just get attention because I'm a Victor. You probably have actual talent."

On the day before the all-important Gracchi fashion show, Finnick Odair said to a near stranger more words in ten minutes than he had spoken to anyone in the past month.

Courfeyrac's eyes widened. "Do you really think that? That they're only paying attention to you because you're a Victor?"

"That, and my dashing good looks," answered Finnick drily.

Courfeyrac laughed. "And in the fashion world, that's all you need!"

"See, you don't need to worry. It's not as if your brains got you this job, so stop wearing them out. You'll only get dumber."

Courfeyrac was simultaneously heartened by this advice and offended by the insinuation. It took skill and hard work to make it as a runway model. Finnick, as he himself had pointed out, had been handed the position on a silver platter.

"I am going to school for this, you know. It's not a hobby for me like it is for you," he pointed out mildly.

"As if I wanted to be a model."

"Can't you just ditch it? More work for the rest of us."

"Shows what you know. I can't quit being a Victor, and parading the catwalk is part of the job description if you've got the looks."

"Oh."

They sat in companionable silence as the rest of the crew filtered in for the dress rehearsal.

* * *

 

"Hello, Effie. Are you liking college so far?" Enjolras flashed his most charming grin. It was surprisingly easy to talk to Effie.

Her cheeks flushed to match her rose-colored wig. "Of course, Alexandre. So many things to do and people to see! I trust that you're doing well?"

"Absolutely. But well, there's one thing..." he trailed off uncertainly. Effie's eyes lit up with interest. _Bingo._ "There's this girl I like, and I was wondering if you knew the right place to take her for dinner. I'm afraid I don't know the town well yet, and you've always had a knack for these things..."

"Say no more!" she exclaimed, pulling out a color-coded map. "The green ones are eateries. Now, the Café Musain gets some partiers on the weekends, but otherwise it's got a nice atmosphere and good food. There's Proserpina's down in the square; it has the loveliest decor. Oberon Diner is a nice spot, though a bit exotic for my taste. Obviously you've got the sense not to take her to a chain restaurant, but other than that I've got to warn you away from the Corinthe. It's a respectable bar, but the students there are always talking politics of a less than savory sort. It would just kill your reputation to be seen there.

"You know Combeferre from the year above us? Well, this friend of his in pre-med has the most dreadful crush on one of the rabble-rousers, and he keeps dragging the poor boy along!" She most likely would have kept prattling on at him, but something in her purse began to beep. "--But then, I suppose it doesn't much interest you. Good luck with your date!"

The busy girl rushed away, leaving the map in Enjolras's hands. Bemused, he folded it and deposited it in his jacket pocket.

That was why he liked Effie so much. She knew everything.

* * *

 

"There she is."

She made a striking profile with her patrician nose, strong chin, slender neck, and voluminous curls. She sipped wine elegantly at a table by the window, luckily appearing to be alone.

"Well, go talk to her."

Joly adjusted his shirt nervously and shuffled over to the elusive object of his affections.

"E-excuse me, is this seat taken?"

Her eyebrows shot upward. "Who's asking?" inquired a distinctly masculine voice.

At a second glance, the strong chin had a bit of stubble, and the shoulders were too broad.

"Eep!" shrieked Joly as he tripped comically. His face landed in the other man's pasta, which liberally smeared him with red sauce.

"I'm sorry-- I mistook you for someone else," he explained lamely.

"Clearly," the man returned neutrally.

"I'm Ambroise Joly. Terribly sorry. I'll cover your bill. Sorry. I fucked up. Ignore me. Shit."

Amusement danced in the man's eyes. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

* * *

 

"He thought you were me?!" exclaimed Musichetta. "What did he do?"

"It was exactly as funny as you're thinking," Cinna replied. "Free entertainment. He paid for my meal."

"And you accepted it? You're a horrible brother."

"Hey, now you know you can mooch off of him."

"I would never. If anything, Blaise mooches off of me."

"Then make Blaise mooch off of him."

"That's actually a good idea."

"I have those occasionally."

* * *

 

They must have practiced the posing. The leader lounged casually with a cigarette in hand, flanked by two confederates who appeared to be related. At the bar, two more associates chatted lightly with one another, but glanced around at intervals. The last member of the group lurked by the door.

Just because it looked practiced didn't mean that Enjolras wasn't impressed. Not only was the image striking, but the security was effective. And Bahorel looked really cool. Enjolras noted the crisp scarlet vest and resolved to buy a similar one for himself.

The mood dissolved as soon as Bahorel opened his mouth. "Okay, I really don't care why you came here. If you're a spy or a government agent, we have ways of dealing with that. The problem is that in his first week of classes, some pipsqueak freshman learned enough about us to casually drop by and ask, 'is this the student political meeting?' Since when did we have a reputation?"

"The pipsqueak freshman is right here," Enjolras pointed out. "I asked my class's resident busybody. I don't know where she gets her information, but the anecdote included a pre-med student being infatuated with one of you."

One of the figures flanking Bahorel coughed in a poor attempt to hide his amusement. The other hissed something that Enjolras didn't catch. Suddenly, the posse of upperclassmen didn't seem so intimidating.

Bahorel sighed. "We'll work on it, I guess. What brings you here?"

"I'm not too fond of the president."

"What a coincidence. Neither am I."

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know when I'll update this, but it'll happen.


End file.
